The Case of the Missing Apocalypse: From the Files of Chik Chaos: Pop Culture P.I.

December 21, 2012. I was crouched under my desk, just as I had planned for the past four months. When this day came, I knew I’d be ready for it. The end of the world was happening — tonight — and I was prepared to face it. Kinda.

All right, all I had was five bottles of spring water and a couple Jambalaya MREs I’d bought from the local military surplus store. But business had been hard lately, even for the world’s most famous Pop Culture P.I. My last case had been over a month before, when I’d helped a group of folks from the local rest home learn how to pronounce “Les Miserables.” (“No, no, it’s not ‘Las Mizerabola.’”)

But like everyone who watched The History Channel, I knew two things: One, the Mayans predicted that the world would end on 12/21/12, and two, you can make a fortune selling old junk to chubby guys who work in a Las Vegas pawn shop. Or out of a van. Or at an abandoned storage facility. Wait. Is that History? I don’t think that’s History. Feels like it’d be on History, though.

Anyway, I was crouched under my desk, prepared for the worst, when I heard it — an odd scraping sound, coming from just outside my office door. It’s here!, I thought. The end is nigh! The bombs are dropping, the zombies are attacking, the poles are shifting. They’re making a prequel series to “Boy Meets World,” the universe is about to collapse! I stuck my fingers in my ears and waited. And waited.

Suddenly, a figure crouched down in front of me. “Hello,” he said in a crisp British accent.

“Ahh!!!” I screamed. I scrambled for the nearest weapon, wielding my office flyswatter like a lightsaber.

“Whoa, hold on there, no problems,” the man said. His voice was excited but reassuring, young but weathered. He was dressed like a dork, in a suit jacket and dress pants. His bow tie was okay, though. Bow ties are cool.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m the Doctor,” he said.

“Doctor…who?” I asked.

“No, no, though you’d be amazed how many people call me that. No, just ‘The Doctor.’ Um, quick question. What are we doing under your desk?”

“Because the world is ending,” I explained. “So I’m gonna stay here until it’s over.”

“Here,” the Doctor said. “Under your desk.”

“Well, that’s where they told kids to stay if a bomb dropped in the Cold War,” I responded. “And if the government says it, it must be true.”

“Right,” the Doctor said, skeptically. “And the world is ending because…?”

The Doctor took my hand and all but dragged me out from under the desk.

“The Mayans were a remarkable people in a lot of ways. But this Long Count nonsense? Complete rubbish. First of all, even the Mayans didn’t think it’d be the end of the world. All it meant was their calendar was ending. The Long Count being over was the same thing as you turning the last page on that Daisy Duke calendar over there.”

“Her name is Catherine Bach,” I corrected.

“Apologies,” the Doctor said, contritely. “My point is that when the long count was over, the Mayans did what you do when a year was over — they had a big party. Oh, what a sight those were. My pal Donna got sloshed on fermented Cacao juice.”

I sat in my chair as he continued. “Anyway, you humans tend to get all apocalypse-happy every 10 years or so. I bet you’ve survived more ends of existence than you can even count. Nostradamus, Jim Jones, Charles Manson, Pat Robertson, Y2K, Harold Camping, Honey Boo Boo — these have all in their own way foretold of the end of the world. And look! You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“So…so why do people obsess over every potential apocalypse?” I asked.

The Doctor sighed. “Because you’d like to believe you’re in control. That you can fight against the inevitable. Humans dislike the idea of not seeing the end coming. The problem is…you won’t. Whether it’s one person or an entire civilization, when the end comes, it’s usually quick and unexpected. That’s the bad thing about death. Believe me — I’ve been through it 10 times and I still haven’t quite got the hang of it.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.

“The same thing you always do,” the Doctor said. “Live. Love. Find joy. Eat a biscuit. Hug a child. Do whatever makes you happy, as long as you don’t hurt anyone else. And always, always fight for what you believe in.”

He looked over his shoulder toward the large, blue box which had somehow appeared in my waiting area. “Well, I must be off, places to go, people to see, giant alien robots to thwart, you know how it is.”

As the Doctor was walking out my door, I shouted, “Wait! What…what about you? What do you believe in?”

He looked back and smiled. “I believe in you, of course. I believe in humanity. It’d be nice if sometime, you all would too.”

McGinnis: The Case of Who Killed Lincoln?

I think someone’s trying to kill me,” the man said as he sat down in my office.

I gazed at this odd guy from across my desk. I could swear I’d seen him somewhere before. Tall guy. Black suit. Beard with no mustache. Tall stovepipe hat. Hmm …. nah, can’t place it. Maybe he was a magician?

“They tell me you’re the best at solving pop culture crimes,” the man said as he removed his hat. I waited for him to pull a rabbit out of it, but no luck. Damn. I love rabbits.

“Well then, young man, you sound like just the investigatory personnel I need in my employ,” he replied.

What was this guy saying? Geez, what was he doing in Tinseltown? Certainly wasn’t trying to cash in on his looks. Tall, gangly fellow. Disgusting wart on his cheek that he really shoulda had removed if he was gonna last here in Hollywood. Poor guy. Were you born in a barn or log cabin or something? He doesn’t have a chance in this town, I thought.

“So why do you think someone’s after you, Frankenstein?” I asked sensitively.

“It all began four score and seven … sorry, force of habit. It began a few weeks ago, when my movie opened.”

Wait, this guy has a movie? Geez, they’ll give anyone a flick nowadays. What’s next, an “Evil Dead” remake with no Bruce Campbell? A gritty reimagining of Hansel and Gretel as monster hunters? Adam Sandler playing his own twin sister? Okay, I’ve said my peace.

“I went into a local cinema to see how the film turned out,” the man said. “I sat in a balcony facing the screen when suddenly I was overcome by this … feeling. A weird sense of déjà vu, like I’d been in this situation before. I wheeled around … and there was no one there.

“I sat there and I couldn’t enjoy the movie. I was convinced someone was lurking behind me the whole time, waiting to strike. It’s been like that ever since. I’ll be walking down the street, eating at Spago, filming Presidents Day commercials — and it’s always the same. Someone’s after me, I’m sure of it.”

I was barely listening at this point. For one thing, his story wasn’t that interesting. For another, I was sure I’d seen this guy before. But where? It finally dawned on me — black clothes? That beard? He’s Amish. I wondered what he thought of all this magical technology I had in my office, like the electric lights and the toilet he didn’t have to go outside to use.

“Sounds like you’ve got a healthy case of the paranoias, Man of the Land,” I said. “Now, I know out here among us English that things can be kinda scary, but I assure you we’re not all out to … ”

He slammed his fist on my desk. Dammit, be careful, Little House, I thought. I just had that fixed.

“No! I assure you, young man, this is not paranoia! I see shadows creeping up on me at night, feel the chill down my neck at all hours. I’ve been here before. I know what this means. Someone’s after me!”

“Right you are, Abe,” a new voice said.

We turned to see a new arrival. Young, pale kid with ridiculously tall hair. It was comically spiky, like his stylist had used a weed whacker while sticking his thumb in an electrical socket. He had fangs bared, but he was nothing like any vampire I’d ever seen before. In the midday sun, it almost looked like he was … sparkling? What the hell kind of vampires sparkled?

“I am killing you in the theaters, Abe,” the vampire said. “But in a totally different way than usual. You may be bringing in the older crowd, but the kids are all out for me! I’m completely outdrawing you, old man! Face it, this time you’re dying at the box office!”

The man with the hat paused. Then, he laughed. Loud and long.

“You?! I’ve been so scared of you?! Oh, what a fool I’ve been!” he exclaimed.

The man stood to face the vampire. “First of all, you may be beating me for now. But your audience dies out quickly. Very quickly. You dropped nearly 70 percent in your second week. My audience actually grew by 20 percent. They will keep coming back for weeks. Months, even. All the way to Oscar season.”

He began to reach into his hat. Ooh! Is it a rabbit? Please let it be a rabbit!

“Second, I don’t think you remember my … hobby.”

“What hobby?” the vampire asked.

“Well, you are aware that I had … two movies this year, right?” The man pulled a long, wooden stake out of his hat.

“Aww …” I sighed in disappointment.

The vampire, eyes wide, ran from my office. The man chased in hot pursuit. I sat alone for a second, then propped my feet on my desk.